


Brother From Another Planet

by Living_Free



Series: Slip and Slide [42]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily, Big Brother Dick Grayson, Crack, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt Dick Grayson, Jason being nasty with himself, M/M, Protective Damian Wayne, Timkon, because of Things He Saw, bruce having emotions, clark being wholesome, damian babysitting jon, superbat bros, tim and his best friend, tim getting his belly rubbed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 18:02:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19469236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_Free/pseuds/Living_Free
Summary: Bruce experiences a bout of emotion.Tim moves across the dance floor like watery lotion.Dick is traumatized by Jason's little eel,and Clark has all the feels.





	Brother From Another Planet

It happened, as it so often did, at breakfast.

Dick was spearheading the morning campaign, as per usual, with Terry overseeing the situation from his high chair, occasionally trying to feed himself some mashed banana with a 50% success rate of spoon to mouth.

Bruce was sulking at the table, his back sore from the previous night's patrol. Stupid Poison Ivy and her stupid vines throwing him into stupid walls. He was getting too old for this, honestly, he was. He couldn't be like Dick, bouncing off of every surface without a scratch, or like Tim, who if hungry enough, would just eat through the vines.

Ivy had screamed when she saw Tim munching contentedly like a chipmunk on the vines holding him captive, and had screamed louder when Bruce used that moment of distraction to tackle her evil green ass to the ground.

"Mmm...refreshing" was the soundbite the reporters had gotten from Tim after the battle.

Bruce frowned, making a note to feed the boy more vegetables. "Dick," he called.

"Yes?"

"We need to feed Tim more vegetables."

Dick's eyes sparkled maternally. "Of course, Bruce! Fiber is very important!"

"Fi-ba," Terry repeated solemnly, missing his mouth with his spoon again.

Slowly, the rest of the Waynes trickled in, mumbling their morning greetings and stopping by to either help with breakfast or with Terry.

"Good morn, family," Damian greeted them. "Little Kent, your turn."

Bruce jumped a little when Jon's voice added itself to the fray. "Good mornin' fam'ly."

"Dear lord, Little Kent. More eunciation, if you please."

"Good morning, family," Jon enunciated, and then beamed. Bruce watched warily as Jon plopped himself down next to Damian and was instantly babied by Dick.

"Er," Bruce said. "Jon, not that I'm not glad to see you, but when did you get here?"

"Oh, this mornin' sir," Jon said happily. "Daddy said that he 'n ma were headin' out to get some P'litzers or something. I think it's a new seed for the farm."

"You mean a Pulitzer," Bruce said. Good lord, Clark's second Pulitzer. The man was going to be unbearable now. Wait a second...

"Bruce!" Dick cried. "You're supposed to go the Award Ceremony! You and Timmy are presenting the award this year!"

"Am I?" Bruce asked.

"Bruce!" Dick squawked. "You have to get ready and then get down to the venue! It's all the way in New York, it'll take you hours-!"

"Actually, it'll be three hours in my new environmentally friendly hyperjet," Tim said. "Yes! Timmy has patented another aeronautical marvel that pushes the boundaries of science! Timmy will now accept applause and praise, yes-"

Cass began to applaud, but her hands were slapped down by Jason. "Don't give him a big head," he muttered. "It's already bad enough as it is."

Tim could not have cared less, already planning what he would wear, and how he would stun Kon with his radiance in New York.

"But Kon didn't go with Ma and Pa," Jon said innocently. "He's doin' poorly in bed, he's got the chicken pox, and Gramma's takin' care of him." After delivering that emotional blow to Tim's psyche, Jon skipped out with Damian, most probably to feed the boy's growing menagerie of animals and be pure.

"My poor Kon!" Tim cried. "I can't go to the ceremony now, I must take care of my swole but spotty lover!"

"Master Tim, one must honor one's obligations," Alfred lectured. "You were scheduled to present the award months ago."

"Aw, obligations strike again," Tim muttered sadly.

"Don't worry about it, Timbo," Jason said through a mouthful of cereal. "If you dress up, you can add more spank bank material for Kon."

Tim cheered up. "Aw yiss, I'll pull a nice sexy little number for Kon-"

"AHEM."

"-that is still tasteful and leaves enough to the imagination to be classy," Tim said meekly, side-eyeing Bruce.

"Better," Bruce grumped, still upset that Tim was an adult in a healthy relationship that would eventualy lead to him being related to Clark and his corn-husking ways.

"Come now, everyone up, this is Master Clark's big day," Alfred tutted. "Master Bruce, Young Timothy, to your closets! Master Timothy, you will need a plus one-"  
"None but Kon can fill the void in my soul!" Tim wailed.

"Or your tiniest of holes," Jason muttered, and was rewarded by a scandalized gasp from Dick, the only person close enough to hear. Louder, Jason said, "Just take a friend."

"Why can't I take one of you?" Tim asked.

"Cass has a recital for her show tomorrow, Dick has a baby, and I want to take a bath."

"You're missing out because you want to have a bath?"

"With Roy."

"Oh," Tim nodded, understanding. "Oh, I can bring Steph or Cobb!"

"Steffie can't come," Cass said. "She is doing work experience with Dr. Thompkins."

"Cobb it is!"

"No, not-" Bruce could barely start voicing his protest before Tim had whipped his phone out.

"Hi Cobb!" Tim sang, and was immediatly interrupted whe Bruce demanded that he turn on speakerphone. "You're on speakerphone," he added. "Everyone's here, too."

"Hello Timothy, Wayne family and my descendants," Cobb replied, supressing a smile at speaking to his unlikely little butterfly friend. "How do you fare?"

"Not great," Tim replied. "Kon's got the chicken pox."

"Oh dear," Cobb said sadly. "It is a most vexing disease. Do you need me to comfort you during this most grave time before his passing?"

"Cobb, no one dies from chicken pox anymore," Tim giggled. "He's just a bit itchy, is all."

"That is good to know," Cobb said. "I do not like to think of you as a widow. You should be happy."

Bruce grumbled, finally willing to admit that maybe, just maybe, Cobb was a good guy who liked to look after Tim.

"But the Pulitzer Prize and the gala is tonight," Tim said, "and I don't have a plus one. Will you go with me? Pweez~?"

Cobb blinked. He had never been invited anywhere other than the canteen in the circus before. That Timothy considered him close enough to take to a night of such reknown was...astounding, and humbling. "Timothy..."

"Please? You're my best friend, and we can mock pretentious people all night and mock Bruce when he has to pretend to be an extrovert."

Cobb smiled softly. "Of course, Timothy."

"Yay!" Tim cried. "Come over, we'll do your makeup!"

It took Cobb a moment to remember that he had scars that needed to be covered. "Er...I don't own makeup-"

"You can use mine," Dick chimed in. "Hurry on over, you can spend a few hours playing with Terry before you have to get ready."

"Stop inviting my sworn enemies over," Bruce muttered, as Tim cut the call.

"Cobb is my best friend and Dick's family," Tim insisted, "he's the opposite of an enemy."

"He even bought Terry that cute little frilly dress," Dick said, pointing to the tiny Victorian baby dress that Terry had on.

"While I cannot argue with the man's taste," Alfred said, to practically everyone's amusement, "the fact remains that he has caused Master Bruce great pain by repeatedly abducting Master Richard."

"He apologized for that," Dick said. "Also he was very brainwashed."

"We shall see what to make of the young man," Alfred said. "Already, his unwavering friendship with Master Timothy and his quest to eliminate all of young Timothy's rivals is making great headway in changing my opinion of him."

"I knew that I could count on you, Alfie," Tim beamed. "I'm going to go and get changed. Bruce, you need to write your speech for when you award Clark his prize."

"I don't need a speech," Bruce said. "I know what I'm going to say."

"Absolutely no references to corn-husking or cow herding, Master Bruce," Alfred cautioned him. "Tonight is Master Clark's big night."

"You know, I do actually like Clark," Bruce said to all and sundry. "I know the man better than practically anyone else, and in every way possible."

Jason snickered. "Every way?" He asked innocently.

Bruce raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "I've seen him naked," he said. "It was unpleasant."

"When-"

"Changing rooms," Bruce said. "He doesn't wear underwear underneath the costume, says the doesn't like the panty line." He paused. "Also sex pollen."

"You can't just say that and not tell the story," Tim said.

"What's to tell? Clark got hit with sex pollen, so I put him in an ice bath. No stiffy can endure that temperature."

"You left poor Clark alone?" Dick frowned. "Sex pollen is torturous without physical contact."

"Of course I didn't," Bruce said. "I held his hand on the edge of the pool while I read a book. Easiest mission ever, if you can stand not to look at Clark's elephant's trunk of a phallus. It's so wierd!" Bruce exclaimed. "How can he wear pants? Does he tuck? Is it retractable? I will never know. Mainly because I don't want to. "

Several bits of cereal and pancakes were expelled as those gathered laughed at Bruce's vexation.

What awful children he had, Bruce thought. He couldn't wait to get to New York.

***

Bruce wanted to go home.

The gala was mostly full of pretensious reptiles, with the exception of those who were actually being awarded, such as Clark.

"I want to go home," Bruce equivocated.

"Why?" Clark asked.

"I'm having separation anxiety from Terry."

"Try again."

"Bruce cleared his throat. "I'm having separation anxiety from Damian."

Clark burst out laughing.

Bruce pouted. "Why do you mock my pain, its very real."

"Poor Bruce," Clark said, poking his friend's sallow cheek. "Just try and find things that make you happy. Look, there's Tim, having a gala time."

Bruce looked over and saw Tim dancing with Cobb. He felt his gall bladder rebel. "That had the opposite effect."

"Glad to know it's not just Kon who gives you gallstones," Clark chuckled.

"It's everyone. Kon, Steph, Cobb...even Wally and Roy before they settled into constants. Sometimes, I catch myself glaring at Lois before I remember."

Clark burst out laughing and patted Bruce's face. "You're adorable. Come on, lets take our seats."

The ceremony began, and eventually Clark's name was called. Bruce dozed for a bit as Clark's many accopmlishments were listed. His groundbreaking reporting on various battles...his courage in the face of evil...impeccable investigative skills and hand in bringing down some of the most corrupt people in the world...

"Today we seek to honour Mr. Kent for his role in exposing the cruelties inflicted upon the people working for Withershins Corporation by the working culture, and shedding light on the trials faced by the working class, and those most vulnerable to corruption. Therefore, this year's Pulitzer Prize for Journalism goes to Mr. Clark Kent!"

Clark beamed as he ascended the stage, waving out to Lois in the audience. He went up to the microphone and cleared his throat. "Good evening," Clark said. "There are so many people who I have to thank. First and foremost, my wife Lois - my partner in everything that I do. My mother, for being my first and foremost supporter. My little son, the light of my life in my darkest moments. My brother," Clark chuckled, "for bringing me back down to earth and keeping me grounded in reality."

Clark looked into the audience and found Bruce's eyes. "To my unlikely best friend, Bruce, who backs me up in everything that I do, and is so quick to whinge at my errors. My best friend, who not only once almost died for me, but more importantly, would kill for me."

Bruce blushed a most unbecoming purple colour and wished that he could disappear.

No wait.

He wished everyone else would disappear.

Clark continued to speak, unbeknownst of what he had done to poor, emotional prune Bruce. "To everyone who read the article, who acted on it to better the working conditions for those workers, you have my greatest thanks. Yes, Bruce, Tim, that means you. Don't think that I don't know that you bought Withershins Corporation and gave those workers their livelihood back."

The announcer beamed. "Mr. Wayne and the smaller Mr. Wayne, may we have you onstage to present Mr Kent with the award?"  
Bruce slunk up with Tim bouncing alongside him in his latest gown that made him look like a small fae or elven creature that had escaped from a land of whimsy and the occasional knife fight.

Tim handed Clark the award and gave him a hug, which made them look as though hench Peter Pan was going to suffocate Tinkerbell. Bruce slid up to the podium and cleared his throat.

"Clark let go of my son, I don't want to take home a bag of mush in a pretty dress if you squish him."

Clark pouted and released Tim, who flounced over and pinched Bruce before returning to his seat. Bruce turned back to face the audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen, many of you know Clark Kent to be the man behind the newsprint. The nerd who works wonders with words. Today, I am here to unmask him."

The crowd gasped. Tim gasped. Clark gasped.

At Wayne Manor, Dick sensed a disturbance in the force and gasped, then ran upstairs to check on Jason who was lounging in the tub, expecting Roy to enter sultrily. Instead, Dick barged in in a panic and caused him unending trauma and distress because Jason's nads were out in the water and that was his brother, ew ew ew.

But back to Bruce's drama.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Bruce rumbled ominously, "this is the unseen side of Clark Jonathan Kent." He took a deep breath and began, "While you may think of Clark as a wordsmith, you should also know that he uses the words 'ain't', 'y'all' and 'y'all'ain't' in regular conversation. His prefered exclamation in 'ope!'"

There were titters of amusement and relief as people seemed to realize that Bruce was just going to roast the man of the hour.

"At one point, Clark was debating whether to enter journalism or to become a chef and make various ungodly combinations of casseroles and pies. He prounounces 'pie' as 'pah', this is inexcusable.

"Clark's pride and joy is his farm," Bruce said. "He grows corn, various types of squash, and has several fruit trees. He never fails to bring me a bushel of the latest harvest. He raises sheep and cows, and they show uncanny levels of loyalty towards him." Here, Bruce paused. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my firm belief that if you want to know the measure of a man, see how his cows treat him.

"Clark treats his cows like royalty, and they absolutely adore him. This man treats his cows and every other living thing, no matter how great or small, with the same amount of respect and care. His cows greet him every morning, and have never once kicked him in the head. They would, I believe, take a bullet for him. Because Clark Kent is the type of man that inspires that kind of love and loyalty. He is the most trustworthy man that I know. And I would know, wouldn't I? He is the godfather to all of my children.

"A final word before I end this speech," Bruce said. By this time, several people were dabbing their moist eyes, and the most macho of men were insisting that there were several microparticles of dust in their eyes. "When I was a little boy, my mother asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I replied that I would like a little brother."

There were several muted gasps, and Bruce smiled ruefully. "Well, we all know how that turned out. I thought that I was all alone in the world, until I had my children. But I realize now, standing here, that my Christmas wish was fulfilled years ago.

"I found my little brother eighteen years ago to this day, when I bought a small newspaper called the Daily Planet, and a young man from Smallville bumped into me, said 'ope!', introduced himself, and then offered me a bite of his sweet potato and butternut squash casserole, all within five minutes of meeting me." Bruce looked at Clark, who was making no effort to hide his tears. "It was the best casserole I've ever tasted."

The hall burst into applause as Clark swooped Bruce into the hug to end all hugs. "I love you too, Bruce," Clark choked out. "Even though technically I'm the big brother."

"Are not," Bruce refuted, even as Clark herded him down the stage and into the bustling crowd. "Bruce, when were you born?"

"1974."

"Yeah, I was born around 1972," Clark informed him with a rueful grin.

"This is preposterous," Bruce said. "Your biodata clearly states that-"

"Ope! That old thing! Ma and pa lied about that, because they had to fudge a birthdate. They couldn't say that they found me in a capsule in the field now, could they?"

"I can't believe this," Bruce grumbled. "I bared my heart to you. And then you tell me that you've let me live my life under the illusion that I have a little brother who likes corn and cows and fresh farm air."

Clark laughed and thumped Bruce on the back. "Come on, grumpy, lets get to the dance floor."

"Why? I don't like dancing," Bruce the antisocial antelope said.

"Tim," Clark said by way of explanation, and pointed to the dance floor where Tim and Cobb were dancing a bawdy tango, with Tim's leg peeking opportunistically out of the hem of his dress, which several men were eyeing with lascivious eyes. What do you get when you put one petite, pretty vigilante, and one highly trained circus acrobat-assassin?

A headache for Bruce.

"You take Cobb, I'll take take Tim," Bruce said.

Clark beamed. "On it, partner."

***

Later that night, Bruce was much happier that Tim had crawled into one of his oversized cat patterned hoodies again, and out of his dress that had drawn such impressed gazes towards him. Patrol had also helped to work out some of his extra aggression.

Bruce loved being a vigilante.

Currently, Tim was lying partially across Jason and partially across Cass, and getting his belly rubbed by Jason while emailing his corporate comrades to close yet another deal.

Dick was pouting, because he had walked in on Jason being nasty with himself, and was sad as a result. Cuddling Dami or Terry usually got him out of such funks, but this case needed Dami AND Terry.

"Bruce."  
Bruce looked up at Cass. "Yes?"

"Is it true."

"Is what true?"

"Is Clark second daddy."

Bruce paused and chewed through the statement masquerading as a question. "He's your godfather, yes."

"What that."

"He'll take care of you if I can't."

"I take care of me."

"Yes, but the children-"

"Don't insult Dick. You make him sad. He wants to take care of everyone. Let him."

"Well, yes, now he can, but Clark's been godfather since I got Dick when he was a child."

"Oh, I see."

"Its largely ceremonial now," Bruce explained.

"It was very sweet of you to give that speech, Bruce," Dick cooed, having recovered.

"Hmph. It seemed the right thing to say."

"Mushball," Jason accused him.

"You literally stopped patrol to rescue a kitten from a tree tonight," Bruce reminded Jason. "I posit that it is you who is the mushball, sir."

"My balls are firm and filled with spunk, not mushy at all," Jason countered.

Dick groaned sadly as the image of Jason's nasty balls revisited his mind.

"Cease, Todd!" Damian cried, equally affronted. "Speak not of your odious genitalia in such refined company!" Damian quickly reached forward and scooped Terry up. "There, there, my beloved nephew, come with me. We will retreat to your bedchambers, whence I shall read to you the tale of The Rapunzel."

"Rapunzel is not a 'the'," Tim said, "she was a girl. It's a name, not a title."

"Nonsense, Drake! The Rapunzel was an incarnation of Medusa, whose long, prehensile hair served as a weapon that she weilded to first escape captivity, and then strangle her captors! She then lay waste to the realm of her enemies and took their Crown Prince as her own!"

"Oh my god-"

"Come Grayson," Damian said, leading a bemused Dick with him, "you and Wallace can listen as well."

With Dick and Damian upstairs, Tim crawled over to Bruce and blinked large, protuberant eyes at him.

"Er," Bruce said. "Can I help you, Tim?"

"Bruce, I'm going to have to ask you to keep the comments about Clark being your brother on the down low."

"Why?"

"Because!" Tim flailed. "The paparazzi will make something up about Clark being a long lost Wayne, and by default, Kon will be too! People will think that Kon is my uncle! I don't want to diddle my uncle, Bruce!"

"You don't have an uncle," Bruce said. "Calm down."

"I just want to diddle Kon in peace," Tim insisted.

"There will be no diddling!" Bruce seethed. "Go to the purity room!"

Bruce had converted a spare bedroom into a purity room for Tim, complete with white walls, potted plants, a miniature zen space, and most importantly, no wifi to conect to Kon.

"Aw," Tim said, and squiggled off.

Bruce was just about to relax, content in his victory, when his phone pinged with a message from Clark. It was a picture of an unidentifiable casserole with a heart on the top, made of thin slices of sweet potato.

Bruce snorted and sent a scathing text message back.

SENT: Those yams look soggy

RECEIVED: Bruce why are you so mean :( my yams are full of good starch.

Bruce smiled. As far as brothers went, he had really lucked out.

***

TIMMY'S FASHION BLOG

In this fic, Timmy wore:

[Timmy's Evening Dress](https://www.amazon.com/Womens-Dress-Evening-Formal-Green/dp/B07QRRQ17F/ref=sr_1_106_sspa?keywords=evening%2Bdresses%2Bfor%2Bwomen%2Bformal%2Blayered&qid=1562208700&s=gateway&sr=8-106-spons&th=1&psc=1)

[Timmy's Cat Hoodie](https://www.amazon.com/NEWCOSPLAY-Realistic-Pullover-Sweatshirt-Lightning/dp/B07477LMCL/ref=sr_1_9?crid=1EX681ZEQWIA&keywords=cat+hoodie&qid=1562209371&s=gateway&sprefix=cat+hoo%2Caps%2C344&sr=8-9)


End file.
